


Poison

by itsidhrenniel



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Depression, Dom/sub, Domestic Violence, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Past Rape/Non-con, Pedophilia, Self-Harm, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Suicide, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2020-11-29 02:04:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20954810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsidhrenniel/pseuds/itsidhrenniel
Summary: He was good, she would corrupt him, but it was not her place to help him distinguish between good and bad. She had ached for him for long, refusing herself a pleasure she craved. That was over.Thomas Shelby would become hers that night until darkness swallowed them both.





	1. Prologue

**M** aeve Sowards was woken up in the middle of the night. Strong, fast knocks fell against her door. Someone better be about to die, she thought. Or she’d kill them herself.

She went downstairs, checking the kitchen and living room to ensure her uncle wasn’t home. It was the second weekend of the month, he’d be lost in a brothel in Glasgow with his friend, but with that bastard she could never be too sure. With a sigh, Maeve opened the door. 

It was Thomas.

That night thunder danced through the skies and illuminated the town. It was pouring rain and cold, but he didn’t seem to care at all. Thomas looked up at her, taking a step forward to shelter himself from the rain, leaning against the door frame. Maeve chuckled.

All collected and composed, how long would it last? A word? A smile? The sudden urge to find out made her shake with excitement. She leaned in closer to him.

“It’s late, Thomas…” she whispered his name with a roll of her tongue, licking her lips right after. She grabbed the edge of his coat, feeling the fabric through her fingers. “And cold…”

Thomas caught her hand in his. He brought her closer with a soft tug. “Let me fix that.”

Maeve didn’t stop the laugh that escaped her lips. She shook her head.

Thomas was such a determined and stubborn kid. If he wanted something, he’d get it. Out of respect for her best friend Ada - Thomas’s sister, Maeve had refused him more times than she could count. Not once had he faltered in his tries. Thomas had bought her the flowers she liked the most, stole expensive dresses she had once mentioned to want. He paid such attention to her wishes, she almost thought of him as a maid. But that’s not all Thomas had done for her. He had fought the men who bothered, men six times his weight and age. She brought her hand to the most recent scar on his brow, her fingers leaving a tickling sensation on his skin. Thomas sucked a breath at the touch.

“You took one hell of a beating that night…” Ada couldn’t be upset if Maeve was showing her appreciation, right? Not that she’d care if she got upset at all in the first place. Maeve, with his hand still on hers, turned on her spot and looked at him over her shoulder. “Come.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Maeve Sowards pushed him inside the house, he closed the front door with a kick and followed her upstairs. Her house was dark, silent. It wouldn’t be for long, when he made her scream his name. Maeve bit down her lower lip, thinking about him, what he could do, what she could teach him. He was good, she would corrupt him, but it was not her place to help him distinguish between good and bad. She had ached for him for long, refusing herself a pleasure she craved. That was over.

Thomas Shelby would become hers that night until darkness swallowed them both.


	2. I ─ The Canal

**M**aeve had missed him. It’s not something she’d ever admit out loud, but it was true. He was different than the other men she had been with. Not because he was better—though, perhaps he was—but because something about him moved her. He could make her shake just by hearing the sound of his voice. She wasn’t in love, didn’t want to spend the rest of her life with him, but she would be brave and admit, that she’d be content if he was the last man on Earth, and she the last woman. As much as someone like her could care, Maeve cared for Thomas. And it was amusing to see him pushing his limits for her.

Ada once told her that Thomas was still a kid when he realized he wanted to get married to her, and that desire had not subsided as he grew into a man. His heart might have belonged to others in that time, he might have slept with countless of women, but his mind and soul were hers. And she knew. It was something she took advantage of more often that not, and although Thomas knew that no part of her loved him back - at least, Maeve hoped he knew, he couldn’t change it. It could be a downfall for him, while it uplift her higher than she’d ever been. She had bewitched him and he danced around her fingers in whatever tune pleased her. It was a life he was content with, no matter how much it hurt.

He wasn’t blind; he had seen the marks other men had left on her when she was in his bed, had heard the people whispering about them — saying how ridiculous he looks chasing after someone impossible. Thomas had seen her leaving with other men, offering him a partying kiss and a smile to warm him at night — a promise, that she would think of him when she woke up. Something that, more often than not, she found herself doing, but she usually attributed it to her night’s encounter not having been pleasant.

If she was to think about it, people hadn’t been wrong when calling her a serpent. Her poison was effective and long lasting, men and women all over Birmingham lusted after her months after spending the night with her. Thomas, however, seemed to do more than that. The part of him that craved her body wasn’t the dominant one, and yet — though, Maeve didn’t know how or when it had happened, as she was sure she’d never done anything to encorage it — he had fallen for her, nevertheless.

Maeve had expected him to forget all about her after she and her uncle left Birmingham. It wasn’t a decision she was pleased with, but when it came to her uncle, she’d rather not argue.

London wasn’t a bad place to live and, for sure, she had a lot more fun there than she ever did home. More men, more women, less whispers going around about her. It was a kind of freedom she had been craving since she was a child and it was right there, ready for her to reach out with her hand and claim it. And if Ada hadn’t called and told her that Thomas had a new lover, someone he seemed to love and care for, Maeve wouldn’t have left London that night to see him. 

Out of all the things she took pride in being, forgettable wasn’t one of them. She didn’t want to mess up with Thomas’s heart, because if she did Ada would beat her up to death, but she, for sure, wanted to make sure that he knew, no matter who came into his life, no one would ever compare to her. Because for her, no one was like him. 

Again, Maeve had to remind herself it wasn’t love, but lust and dominance — and pride. It would be one night, she told herself. One night and she would never return to him again. Greta could have him for the rest of her life — if he ever dared to move on from Maeve. But for that one night, she had to make sure he was still hers. Darkness had not swallowed them. Yet.

Her footsteps couldn’t be heard in the drunk night of Small Heath, as she walked towards the canal where she knew Thomas would be. He wasn’t a hopeless romantic, but he lacked imagination. Thomas had taken Maeve to the canal when he first tried to court her. Back then, Maeve didn’t understand the reason behind it, until Lizzie Stark told her what had happened to his mother. After that, she would agree to go there with him whenever he asked, and enjoy a nice evening with him. Oh, she thought. Perhaps that has been what made him fall in love. It didn’t come as a surprise when Ada told her he had also taken Greta there, expecting her to fall in love with him, as he had once, and still hoped Maeve would do.

She saw him standing there, unbothered. Back turned to her. Hers wasn’t the voice he was expecting to hear, and as she spoke she saw him tense. Then relax.

“Isn’t it cold to be outside tonight, Tom?” Maeve smirked, approaching him. No one ever called him that, just her. It was special, somehow. In her twisted mind, it sure was. In every possible way, she wanted to be unique in his life.

He didn’t turn around until she was right next to him, moving as if he hadn’t been able to stop himself. It had been seven months since the last time he saw her. 

She had her hair down; her face was a bit red because of the cold, but stunning, nonetheless. An innocent smile danced around Maeve’s lips. She didn’t know what Thomas saw in her in that moment, if she was daring him with her gaze, or if she was looking at him like she might look at Pol. Her mind was working fast, and it was hard for her to focus on schooling her features when all she wanted was for him to fuck her and then leave.

“No,” Thomas said at last, after gaining enough courage. 

It made her chuckle.

She got closer to him, their lips were almost touching and her naked hand had found home in his hair. “I am.” It was a low whisper. She looked at him and he bit his lip.

Did Greta even cross his mind as he connected their lips? Or as he wrapped his arm around her waist to bring her as close to him as possible? She didn’t think so. It didn’t feel like it.

Maeve smiled against his lips and he growled. Yes, she thought. You’re still mine. 

And as the kiss deepened she understood his rough movements and touches were born out of frustration; not because he was cheating on Greta — who, for what she had been told, was a nice woman — but because even after all this time Thomas still hoped that Maeve would be his. He was a fool in love, too intoxicated in her scent to see the truth. Or perhaps he didn’t care.

Thomas pressed her against the railing, lifted up her skirt and pressed himself against her. She could feel his growing erection through the fabric of his trousers and didn’t bother to hide her amusement as her hand reached out to touch him. Tommy hissed as his lips moved down to her neck and sucked, bit and kissed on the exposed skin. He wanted to mark her as men had done before in a vain attempt to claim her as theirs. But their marks meant nothing to her, and the next night she would show them around and collect more. His, though, she’d remember.

“Oh, Thomas — ” she moaned against his ear. “I’ve missed you.” 

There was no trace of lies in her voice. She  _ had _ missed him. Not as he wanted her to, but missed him, nonetheless. 

Thomas looked up, she could read nothing in his eyes before e crashed his lips down onto hers again and she let out a grunt. Those weren’t the words he wanted to hear, the ones he had been begging for since he was a kid — but it was more than he had ever received and he could be content with it or he could move on. It was his choice, and he chose to accept it.

Thomas grabbed her hair and forced her to look at him. 

“Don’t leave me again.” He sounded controlled, so sure of himself, but she saw right through it and into the mess that his heart and mind were. 

The pressure of his hand made her wet with anticipation. Maeve knew he would fuck her so good that night, she would have trouble walking in the morning. She couldn’t wait for it any longer. Without words, she gave him an answer, as her hands found his belt and she grabbed it, pushing him towards her. She undid his trousers, then used her legs to lower them down to his knees. He felt her hand once again against him, this time as she took his cock and scratched it with her nails. A shameless moan left Tommy’s throat. She had spoken enough, he could have her or he could let her go.

He entered her in a swift, hard motion. Maeve forgot her surroundings for a moment.

Fucking in a public area, exposed to the evening chill, against a railing was... well — it wasn’t the most comfortable thing ever. He had to grab her so she wouldn’t fall back into the river- and in return she dig her nails on his neck and scalp, looking at him with a knowing smile on her lips. She bounced up and down his cock in such a natural, effortless way one might think that’s where she belonged. She felt like heaven against him, her fluids going down his thigh, wetting his pubic hair everytime he thrust inside her. The sounds they made together only made him harder. 

Maeve pressed him against her chest, that Tommy had previously bared to kiss, and nibble — to mark. He breathed against her skin, warming it up. All coldness she had once felt was now gone. Maeve moaned, feeling his hand collide against her ass cheek. Yes, she thought. That’s the Thomas she wanted. She let out a high-pitched scream that soon turned into laughter, throwing her head back she contracted her walls against his cock and moaned his name out loud. Thomas — her Thomas. Now she was sure her name would never leave his mind.

At this point, Thomas was a panting mess, but she wasn’t better. 

Maeve didn’t like to be in control as much as people might think, but she had to. She needed to, otherwise the doors of her mind she had closed would open, and if that were to ever happen, she’d be better off dead. But Thomas would do whatever she asked him to. All she ever had to do was ask for it. 

Thomas’s thrusts got sloppier and, to make up for it, he brought his hand against her clit and moved his fingers fast and hard, like he knew she liked it. It was a good thing she had taught him so good. She was sure Greta could take advantage of that. Maeve needed the pain, it wasn’t the same without it. Thomas may not understand the reason behind it, but he didn’t question her. He bit down on her chest, his eyes looking up at her through his long lashes.

Maeve was whispering in his ear now, like a demon, luring him — begging him to cum inside her.  _ Be good for me _ , whispered, biting his earlobe. She caressed his face and combed her fingers through his hair and nodded, then his name left her lips like a prayer and that’s all it took for him to cum. Thomas’s cum felt like water after crossing the desert. His hot seed milked her walls. He kept on thrusting until she told him to stop. Both of them hissed as he pulled out. Maeve almost felt empty without him inside her.

Her thighs were wet from their cum, and Maeve saw Thomas reach for a handkerchief, to help her clean up. Instead, she gathered the moist on her fingers and brought it to her mouth, licking them clean. The sight only managed to get him hard again.

“Let me take care of that, Tom.” She chuckled. He nodded.

Kneeling before him — as she had done plenty of times before—she opened her mouth, taking him all in one swift motion. She moaned around his cock and he had to support himself on the railing. 

Thomas wasn’t as big as some of the men she had been with, but he was thick and he knew how to use his cock. It was much better than length, in her opinion. 

He hissed and moaned and asked for more, still sensitive from his previous release, but refusing to miss the chance of feeling her mouth. It made her ripe with pride to know the effect she had on him. 

Somehow, he knew it would be long before he saw her again. Perhaps she had let it show when she first kissed him, or when she decided to hop on a boat and travel from London to Birmingham to see him again. 

Maeve sucked his cock while her hand fondled his balls, scratching as she did so. Even on his cock, she let her teeth roam his length before taking him in again. When his cock was against her lips, she pressed her tongue against the tip, but he loved it best when he was deep inside her and she closed her throat to add pressure. Maeve moaned in that moment as well, sending vibrations all over him. Thomas grabbed her hair, his hips moving forward on their own accord. She moaned, it was so good to feel his need like that. Her free hand grabbed his hip and she bobbed her head in sync with him, repeating her movements until he spilled his seed deep down her throat. Maeve looked up at him through watered eyes; although he wasn’t big, his movements were harsh and sometimes she had trouble taking him in. Her lips in a playful smile as his semen ran down her chin and neck, falling onto her chest. She opened her mouth to show him he was still in her, then swallowed all of it. What was left on her face she licked or wiped off. 

Then, Maeve got up.

Her head was tilted. “Help clean this up, will you? Can’t go around looking like this.”

Tommy didn’t need to be told twice: in a instant he was licking and sucking his own seed from her neck and chest until all that glistened was his saliva. So obedient, Maeve thought.

In the aftermath, Maeve had to stop herself from taking his hand. This would be the last time in a long time, and even though she hated to admit it, this was something that saddened her. Thomas had been a constant in her life, a constant she had been grateful for quite often. If pushed, she could call him a friend. Leaving him behind was not leaving  _ just _ him, but also the life she had once known and controlled. But she was a grown woman now, she couldn’t promise him another night. He, out of all the people she had met, deserved the best... 

What if she could give it to him? Perhaps all he needed was a little push, a little heartbreak. Maeve knew he wouldn’t forget her but she owed him his freedom. Thomas leaned against the railing, lighting up a cigarette. His clothes were disheveled, but at least his cock was back in his trousers. She had just finished fixing her skirt when she spoke.

“That was fun. Goodnight, Tom.” Maeve kissed him on the check and walked away, not looking back.

Thomas was free of her. 

Even if he didn’t agree with it. And Maeve Sowards couldn’t wait until life put them back together again. 

But that was a secret that she would take to the grave.


	3. III

**I** t was past midnight when her phone rang. Maeve was still getting used to that thing and the sound almost made her jump from her spot on the bed. Who was calling her so late at night? Sighing, she got up and walked downstairs to her office, where the phone was. 

The house seemed so much bigger now that her husband was dead. The burden that was his presence was gone, and with it the complications of living with him. She let out a soft hum, that could almost be interpreted as happiness, but that hadn’t come. And it wouldn’t, yet. Not until she was done with all the legal trouble that murdering her husband involved. Maeve couldn’t wait until it was all hers.

As she entered the office, the phone stopped ringing. She groaned, tightening her robe. She had taken her time, fine, but whoever was on the other side of the line could’ve waited a little bit longer. It was midnight, for all that person knew, she was asleep. She was about to turn on her spot and return to bed when it began ringing again. Maeve cursed under her breath; she wanted to throw that thing against the wall and watch it burn.

She picked up instead. “Who the fuck is this?” As the words left her mouth she realized that if it was someone from the police station, her answer could’ve put her in a difficult situation. It was difficult to bribe coppers as a woman and the simplest of things could’ve made them turn on her and turn her in. Maeve had no intentions of spending her life in jail. But, to her relief, the voice that answered was not from a copper. Or a man. 

It was still a surprise to hear it.

“Maeve Sowards?” Pol asked from the other side. Maeve bit down her lip. What was Pol doing, calling her so late at night? Calling her, to begin with, she thought. “Maeve?”

“Yes, it’s me Pol.” She didn’t hide her snarkiness. Pol hated her, this wasn’t something the older woman had ever tried to hide and Maeve was fine with it. In fact, she respected her a lot more because of it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” That didn’t stop her from taking in the pleasure of knowing that Elizabeth Gray needed something from her.

Maeve heard Pol sighing on her end. A few minutes passed before she spoke again. “It’s for Thomas…” she paused. Maeve dig her nails on the palm of her hand. She didn’t like the feeling of fear that overtook her upon hearing Pol speak, nor how she shuddered at the thought of something bad happening to him. A friend. Yes, he had been her friend, once. But that was such a long time ago, she couldn’t quite remember. “He’s getting married. To a woman who sold him to the cops once, and she’ll do it again. You need to stop him, Maeve.”

She sighed, relieved. Setting the phone down for a moment, Maeve settled down on the chair to breathe. 

She’d kill Pol for scaring her like that, if only she could manage it without having to admit her fear in the first place. Maeve ran a hand through her hair before picking the phone up again. Her voice was once again neutral as she spoke, not once she thought that Pol had heard her relieved sigh, or what it would mean if she had. 

“Married? Men are such a disappointment, Pol. You teach them how to pleasure a woman but don’t get an invitation to their wedding.”

Pol sucked in a breath. Oh, she was getting on her nerves. 

“Maeve…” Her name sounded like a warning, not that Maeve was scared of her. “If there’s something good left in you, help him.”

Something good left in me? Maeve thought with a laugh. “Nothing good to begin with,” she said. But Pol had hung up and couldn’t hear her.

Maeve sighed, putting the phone down and leaning back in her chair, looking at the hideous portrait of her husband that still hung from the wall. She fought back a shudder, ignoring the burning sensation in her ribcage as she turned around and looked outside the window. 

A decade ago she had left Thomas Shelby in a canal, waiting for Greta. Not long after, Ada had told her he had left for the war. 

Maeve would be lying if she said she never thought of him — worried for him even. But time was a magical thing and, as it passed, the memories of him began to fade. Ada would mention him less often, Maeve would never ask. At some point she wondered if he had ever existed or he had been a safe haven her mind had created to keep her from harm. At the thought of him: his mouth, his cock, the strength which he used to hold her with, Maeve sighed, biting down her lower lip and getting up from the chair. 

She walked towards the window. 

Maeve remembered a morning she had woken up in his embrace. It had been cold, but she hadn’t felt it. She had felt him, though, up to the last bit of him. Thomas’s kisses still lingered in her mind, and more often than not she would catch herself touching her lips and feeling them like a fresh memory. And this woman… who was she? If Pol hated her enough to seek Maeve’s help, she had to be the devil incarnate. Though, to Pol, it would take little to think that of someone. She couldn’t be that bad, whoever she was. 

That didn’t make Maeve less curious. The same feeling that overtook her a decade ago, when she hopped on that boat and travelled to Birmingham was starting to ignitate in the pit of her stomach. She’d never let Thomas go, would she? Maeve sucked in a breath. How could she let him go? If he kept chasing her, coming back to her — like a dream. And Pol wanted her help, she wanted her to help Thomas. 

Looking up she saw the moon was full, staring down at her. Perhaps judging Maeve for the things she had done… or for the things she wanted to do.

Rage overtook her. She wanted to scream. Who would help her? Who had ever bothered to?

Pol — who had once sworn to Maeve’s mother she would look after her — had done nothing but despise her, turning her back on the hell that Maeve was living in and blaming her for the scars she wore. Who did she think she was? To call her, to speak her name, to ask for her help. Help, the word once again rang in her mind and, this time, Maeve did scream. She screamed at the top of her lungs and ran her hands through her face and hair, scratching her scalp as she did so. Help.

One of the maids walked in, stopping, startled, at the threshold of the open door. “Mrs. Sowards?”

“Start a fire outside, in the entrance. I want the neighbours to see.” Maeve’s voice was weak and low, in contrast to the screams she was letting out a second before. When the maid didn’t move from her spot, she turned around to look at the woman’s face. “Start a fire!” 

She ran from the room, gathering what was needed to start the fire and asking the other maids for help. Maeve used a chair to reach the top of her husband’s portrait and hooked it off, letting it hit the ground with a loud thud. She was done looking at his horrendous face, done remembering he had even existed. 

Done feeling, for the night.

It was difficult for her to move it from the office to the entrance, but she refused help. No, this was hers and no one could take it from her. A feet, then two, then three, and before she was aware, the fire illuminated her face and surroundings, painting the dark trees orange. Smoke came off the wood and went high up the skies, leaving a pleasant smell behind. Maeve took one last look at the painting before she threw it into the fire, watching him burn. His face, his hands and that cursed cane her skin could still feel, it all melted together until all there was left were ashes. Maeve didn’t know how long it took for it to burn, the maids started to leave not long after she threw it into the fire, but she didn’t move from her place. Watching as the flames danced and moved to embrace her, taking in the scent of fresh burnt paint and paper. Maeve had never felt peace like in that moment. Minutes, perhaps hours, in which she could feel the happiness and pleasure crawling up her skin, tickling, burning. She sat, observing. If she could watch it burn forever… oh, that’d be sweet, she thought. Sweet — like her Thomas.

  
Maeve felt a hand on her shoulder and she looked back, coming face to face with Mrs. Jane. The old woman had a sweet but old and wrinkled face. Almost like the loving grandmother in the stories she had heard. “Child,” Mrs. Jane said. “It’s late and cold. Let’s go back inside and I will prepare some tea to help you sleep, eh?”

Sleep, Maeve thought. No, she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to watch the flames for a bit longer, until the sun greeted her in the morning and the birds sang their songs, and her mind closed the doors that had opened, letting the horrors out to haunt her down like an animal. It wasn’t a night to sleep, she realized, turning her head forward towards the fire.

Mrs. Jane sighed. A moment after, Maeve no longer felt her hand against her shoulder. She could hear the old woman going back inside, closing the door after her. And for a second, somewhere in the dark behind the fire, Maeve swore she saw her uncle smiling at her, hand extended to grab her and take her with him. Instead of screaming, Maeve let her lids shut close and fell against the hard ground. A part of her hoping the fire would keep her warm and alive, the other wishing it would extend and consume her in her sleep.


	4. IV

**T** homas found himself in front of the safe he had in his office that night, after Lizzie had gone home and he disconnected the telephone to avoid being bothered. His hands hesitated to touch the metal, but he forced them to anyway and turned the wheel, introducing the password. A click was heard and Thomas sucked in a breath. It had been a long time since he last opened it.

Its inside smelled of old, and dried roses, and black tea with cinnamon. A smell of the past. A smell he never expected to crave for again.

He let out a soft sigh, his jaw tightening as he looked back towards the locked door. He could still close the safe and go home. Home to Grace. It’s what he should’ve done when he finished with the paperwork but something had stopped him in his tracks. It was an urge, an impulse. It had come out of nowhere. One moment, he couldn’t focus, couldn’t properly think — and then all he could think about was Maeve.

Maeve, the name ran through his brain like a bell. After so long, her presence had made itself a place in his mind again. 

Truth be told, he had never forgotten about her; from time to time he would ask Ada about her, but his sister wouldn’t tell him much. Some words were spoken about Maeve in the streets, nothing he could trust. After a while, all he had left of her were the memories he couldn’t let go of, and the dreams that had haunted him while in France. As she had left with the shovels back then, Thomas hoped that Grace would make Maeve leave too. For a while it had worked, however he found himself reliving what had happened with Greta once again.

He could love someone else but that someone could never be Maeve.

Perhaps this was the reason he forced himself to open the safe. To see and feel the things he had put aside, hoping that time would erase them; from his memories, from earth. But as his hands wandered inside the box, Thomas could feel the velvet envelope, the bag of tea, a couple of photographies and dried roses. Except for the roses, he dared to believe it was all as it had been a decade ago, when he decided to lock his hopes and dreams away.

His steps were fast and uneven as he walked back towards the chair. After sitting down, he laid the objects on the table before him. Thomas was tempted to grab the envelope, his hand shaking as it hovered over it. But his heart skipped a beat at the thought. It would be all too painful, he realized. So he decided to keep that dream in the dark for a little bit longer, and grabbed the photographs instead. Ada was in the background with John, eating something he couldn’t decipher. He could make out Arthur somewhere behind them as well. In the front, Thomas and Maeve were on a horse. She was smiling, head thrown back against his chest. He could remember that moment as if it was happening right in front of him. He smiled, soft and sincere and longing. Thomas still missed those moments, the lies he told himself never set, never did their work. He could fool others, but never himself. With a sigh, he laid down the picture and took a look at the other. Almost in the verge of tears and shaking, his smile turned melancholic and sad — almost grieving. Thomas and Maeve dancing. It had been one of those moments in which all she wanted was to live, to feel alive, and had chosen to do it with him. Nothing too special for others, perhaps, but to him it had once meant the world.

Maeve was far from done with him, her spell still clouded his mind and made him wish she’d appear and tell him there was no one else for her, as there was, in truth, no one else for him.

Soft knocks fell against his door, bringing him back from his thoughts and pushing memories back. He cleared his throat. “Who is it?” He had expected it to be Grace, worried he was still working.

“It’s me, Ada.” Thomas couldn’t even feel a grain of guilt as he sighed, content he didn’t have to face Grace in that moment. “Open this damn door.”

Thomas swallowed a laugh as he got up from his chair and walked over to the door, turning the lock and opening it. Ada was smiling, a letter in her hand. Frowning, Thomas stepped aside to let her in. She didn’t ask before sitting down in the chair opposite to his and picking the pictures up to see. Ada laughed, remembering those moments and shaking her head.

She spoke, but didn’t turn around to face her brother, who was still by the door. “It’s curious. I just got a call from Maeve. First thing I did was come here to tell you, and you have all these old photographs laying around...” Ada sounded pleased, relieved even. It had also been a while since the last time she had seen her friend, and when it came to the people she loved, Ada worried perhaps a little too much.

He swallowed, his heart beating fast. It was almost painful to feel. Thomas didn’t want Ada to see his reaction, but when he turned around to walk back to his chair, she was looking at him with a knowing smile plastered on her face. Although he rolled his eyes at her, he didn’t deny what she already knew. Could he be blamed? All he had known were tales and whispers. 

Thomas sat down on his chair, leaning back, waiting for Ada to start talking.

“Maeve got married and her husband has died. She has invited Karl and I to her house, right outside of London. She said it would be sweet if  _ Thomas also came _ ,” Ada read, letting the piece of paper fall on the table. He picked it up. It was just a note in Ada’s handwriting. “She called me, Thomas, didn’t write a letter. I had to write it down.” He nodded.

Thomas rubbed his face, the words settling in his head and repeating themselves over and over again. After a moment, Ada’s handwriting turned into Maeve’s voice. He shuddered. Her house, London, the two of them alone most of the time. It would be the perfect setting to court her again, this time she perhaps would agree and listen. Since she had tied the knot before, Thomas hoped.

But he couldn’t do it. Not again. He could still remember Greta’s sobs and curses when she found out what he had done, he couldn’t do that to Grace as well. This time, he had to be stronger than Maeve. She had her chance — lots of chances — and threw them all away, it wasn’t his fault if he decided to move on from her.

Ada and Thomas sat in his office, talking about the past. He wanted to believe the love he’d felt for her was now cold, but the sudden feeling of warmth that took over him couldn’t be fought. As if someone had started a fire inside of him, igniting his very soul, Thomas wondered when Maeve would come back.


	5. Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see. Hopefully I will finish publishing this work by the end of the summer!

Thomas had been wondering when she would come back, knowing it was only a matter of time after Ada told him about the call, but he never expected it to be that morning. Maeve had a gift, it seemed, a gift to reappear in the less convenient times.

It was the morning of Thomas’s wedding, his goddamn wedding. He didn’t know what got into him but he found himself going to church. It felt strange to be there, after so long, with the intention of confessing. But he went, nonetheless. That’s when he saw her.

He couldn’t believe himself at first. Last time was that night at the canal, a decade ago. Ever since, all he had known of her had been the gossips. It was said that she had married a rich businessman from Wales—something his sister had confirmed—and that she had had a child. However, he knew better than to trust people’s words. When he approached her and sat beside her, he knew she wasn’t a dream.

“Never thought I’d find you here,” he said. It made her laugh.

Thomas hated himself. Grace was at home, putting on her wedding dress, getting ready. Her relatives were in town as well, excited for the big moment. Yet all he wanted to do was to throw Maeve to the floor and take her, right there, until she cried his name. What the fuck was wrong with him?

She let out a sigh before sitting back, turning her head to look at him. “I’m praying for my late husband, so he doesn’t get lost on his way to hell.”

He couldn’t remember the last time his laugh was so real and free, but it felt good. Her smile also felt sincere, unlike the ones one would expect to see from her. Something about her had changed and a spark of hope ignited in Thomas’s chest. However, as bad as he felt about it—given the fact that he was promised to another and supposed to tie the knot in a few hours—it also felt like drinking water after being driven mad with thirst. And fucking hell, had he been thirsty.

“Ya got married, I heard. Had a little one too, eh?” 

She shook her head. No.

Thomas saw her throat going up and down before she spoke. He noticed how she got tense. “Got married, aye. A bastard, a few years older than me. Sadly he passed away.” Her tone as she told him about her husband’s death was more than enough for him to know that age was not what killed him. “But he put no little bastard in me.” Maeve’s hand combed through his hair, a smile on her lips. “You?”

He wanted to tell her the truth. “No.” But he didn't. It wasn’t because he didn’t love Grace, he was almost one hundred percent sure he did, but he loved Maeve more. Thomas couldn’t stop himself nor deny his feelings, as much as he had tried to for the longest time.

She raised a brow, giving him a chance to be honest. Nothing she hated more than a liar, he remembered with a sigh. 

He looked forward, away from her. “Engaged. No children.”

“Does it feel good?” Maeve said, climbing up Thomas’s lap and getting comfortable there, refusing to be ignored. Leaning in she grazed his lips before moving to his ear. “Being inside her, does it feel good?” Thomas swallowed, fighting the urge to grab her hips. “Does it feel the same, huh? When she calls your name, when she kisses you? Or do you think of me? Tell me, Tom.”

Thomas couldn’t speak. He had tried to forget her for so long… First Greta and Lizzie, then Grace. Still, it wasn’t enough to get rid of her—the feeling of her nails scratching his skin as she drove him over the edge, the smell of her perfume in the morning. Fucking hell, he even remembered how she liked her tea. It was ridiculous. But she kept the game on and he kept on showing her his losing hand, becoming a trembling mess under her touch. She won, not in that moment, no: she won long ago, the first time she had him in her bed and allowed him to keep going back. This was one of the reasons he believed he was special to her, Maeve had rules about men—about never allowing them to spend more than a night with her—but, with Thomas, she had made an exception. She welcomed him into her bed numerous times before she herself went into his, then kept on appearing to visit him. Perhaps Thomas was so sore about losing the game, that his mind still thought she’d chose him if he kept following her rules. But following the rules was what made him lose in the first place. She had come up victorious, his broken heart under her.

And still, he was willing to let her crumble it once again if it meant feeling her close to him. A sick bastard, that’s what he was. A sick, obsessed bastard who couldn’t let go. And he knew she loved it.

“No,” he spoke, at last. It was such a low whisper, she almost couldn't hear it. She didn’t need to, though. He answered when he grabbed her hips and pushed her down against him. He wasn’t lying—it wasn’t the same. Grace was spectacular, Thomas loved her. Didn’t mean she stood a chance against Maeve. No one could. “It doesn’t. She doesn’t.” He sounded quite desperate, his mouth searching for hers in the dim light of the Church.

Maeve grabbed his face, then kissed him. She spoke against his lips, “Good.”

Thomas tried to unknot her dress, but it seemed to be quite complicated and decided to tear it apart instead. It made her gasp, a soft laugh leaving her lips afterwards. She returned to his mouth, her hands working on his belt and trousers once she had gotten rid of his vest and shirt. She roamed his torso, digging her nails just enough to make him sigh in pleasure. It never ceased to amaze her how a man as powerful and prideful as Thomas could become so obedient under her—perhaps that’s the reason she kept returning to him. 

He was hard, the sight of his cock made her mouth water but she had other plans in mind. She sat next to him, opening her legs and leaning back, getting as comfortable as it was possible given their location. Thomas kneeled, moving between her legs. He grabbed them and rested them on his shoulders. He heard her sigh before he dipped in, his mouth working on her lips and clit at a fast pace. It was difficult to contain the moans, but the sacred ground had been stained the moment their first kiss was shared, so neither Thomas nor Maeve cared about being seen. She grabbed the hair at the top of his head, tugging at it—a gentle tug at first, but as his lips progressed and her abdomen, tightened so did her hold.

It was an involuntary reaction, truly. One thing Tommy had gotten used to from fucking her was that, no matter what, she had to be the one in control. She could be on her knees, sucking him out while riding her own fingers and still be the one in charge. It felt safer like that to her—and Thomas and every other man she had ever slept with, had always respected it. So, when she pushed him against her—something she had done countless times before—and his hands went up against her flesh to push her back down, it wasn’t something he wanted to do, but a reaction born from his survival instinct. When Thomas realized what he had just done, he straightened his back and looked at her with an apologizing gaze, but she spoke before he even had the chance to form a thought.

“Fuck Thomas, I didn’t mean to—” she stuttered. She sat straight, her hands found his face as she grabbed it with care, caressing his cheekbones. “Didn’t mean to force it. I’m sorry.” Her smile almost made it all disappear, but something still bugged him in the back of his mind.

She wasn’t stupid, she knew that the man who had come back from the war wasn’t the same one she left on that canal a decade ago. Thomas used to like to dance to her tune, both in and out of the bedroom. Before he even went down on her, she could tell something was different now. War had changed him, the scars no one but him could see had damaged the trusting part of him. If he wasn’t in control he was in danger. She understood that. She respected it.

Which made Thomas feel safe, but also concerned. What happened to her, to make her understand his pain? Who scared her like that? He wanted to kill them.

Thomas covered her mouth to silence her, however the scream she let out after being picked up all of a sudden could still be heard. Now, she was on top of him once again and he sat, relaxed and carefree, on the bench. His cock rubbing against her thigh. Thomas brought his hand to her face, brushing some loose hair back. He had leaned in until he could touch her lips and pressed them against hers. Thomas wanted to protect her. She would never let him.

“Go ahead.” He said when their lips separated. Maeve looked at him perplexed. Sure, she did know Thomas wanted to have some control over the encounter, she could allow that—it was the sudden warmth in her abdomen that surprised her. “Ride me. Or don’t. Your choice.”

Damn that man, she thought. He almost was as good at reading people at he believed to be. Yet he kept losing on a game she didn’t even follow along. Sighing, she grabbed his cock, moved up so the tip would be against her entrance and, looking at him the entire time, she started to descend upon it. She bit down her lower lip, savouring the moment. Tom’s cock was the best she’d had—and she’d had quite a lot of them. Or perhaps she just liked him better than the rest. Who knew, she wouldn’t bother finding an answer to that question.

As she went up and down, Thomas wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her chest. He put his arms around her, thinking that’s where he belonged, and he never wanted to leave. Spending the rest of his life in her arms, that was a dream. A beautiful one, but a dream nonetheless. And that voice in the back of his head, the one that tried to keep him grounded, it was silent, because all he could hear was her moaning his name, the sound of her wet cunt against his skin and her ragged breath. It was the most beautiful song he’d ever listened to, forever engraved in his memories so he could return home in times of need. Oh, she was going to be the end of him, eh? But what a pleasant end, Thomas thought. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Don’t leave me. Not again.” He found himself pleading. She ignored his request.

Her mouth felt forceful against his but he welcomed it with a moan. Thomas felt her walls tightening around his cock, that was about to explode. He put his fingers against her mouth and she opened it with a smile, sucking on them just as good as she would his cock. When his fingers were wet enough to not hurt her—not that she would mind some pain—he rubbed them against her clit, causing her to groan. It must’ve been a hundred degrees in there, or at least that’s how he felt it. Her skin was wet, he also had sweat and blood running down him. Her beautiful hair was now a mess, but her smile remained sinful and promising. He wanted to cum inside her. Perhaps, if she had his child, she would remain there with him.

“Can I?” Maeve asked him, her hand close to his throat. Thomas nodded, but that didn’t seem to be enough for her so he agreed out loud. She pressed her hand against his throat, enough that he’d feel it but not enough to cause an instinctive reaction. He moaned at the feeling, his free hand slapping her ass as hard as he could.

It wasn’t long until she came undone, moaning his name for the whole town to hear. Fuck, he wanted them to hear it. He wanted them, up until the last bastard out there to know it was him she went back to, it was him she had a soft spot for. It was him, him… that’s what his mind told him as he thrust his hips up once more, cumming inside her. Thomas didn’t stop until both their orgasms had subsided and she winced, moving to sit beside him again. Their clothes were all over the floor—hers torn apart, and the bench was wet with sweat and cum. 

It was a sight he never wanted to forget.

Thomas lit up a cigarette, offering her one but she refused it, thanking him. She put her dress over her head, making it as presentable as possible before she moved on to straighten her hair and fixing her makeup. He was still naked, sitting on the bench and looking at her.

Words flew through his mouth before he could stop them, “Please, don’t do it.” 

He was being so weak, it made her feel bad. No self-confidence, no pride whatsoever. This wasn’t the man she knew he was, but it was the man she made him be.

She gave him one more kiss and a smile. That would have to suffice. “Until next time, Tom.” Her words felt like a knife to the heart that was killing him and bringing him back to life at the same time.

“Until next time,” he replied, accepting his defeat. As she walked from him, again, she didn’t see the tears that run down his face.

This was their game and once again she had once another match. The winner takes it all: his heart, his pride and whatever honour was left in him. And he was left standing there next to a pool of cum, getting married in a few hours... waiting for the next time.


	6. The white fence.

**M** aeve didn’t turn around as she left him behind in the church, just as she hadn’t looked back in the canal. It wasn’t her thing. But she could hear him shudder, feel his tears. A part of her did wonder if he had waited for her, if he had hoped she’d receive him at the station. She almost wanted to go back and kiss him. 

Once, she had wished for Thomas to appear in a horse and take her far, far from her home, somewhere no one could find them. She might had given him the life he wanted, had it happened. However, that had been a child’s dream, something she hadn’t thought about for a long, long time. Not even as she had to will her feet to keep walking, as her fists clenched and she dug her nails on her skin. The urge to start anew was strong, but not as strong as her will. 

Maeve pushed the door open, walking out of the church and breathing in the fresh air that calmed her fire down. At first, she didn’t notice Pol waiting for her, leaning against the wall. She started walking when Pol called her name.

“Maeve…” she stopped, turning around to face her. No tears, no dreams. Nothing that could make Pol think she had, after all, a working heart and conscience. “Did it work?”

Maeve laughed, shaking her head. “You listen to people fuck now? Or watch? Must be all the entertainment an old woman can have, right?” Maeve didn’t feel the slap. “Right.”

Pol swallowed, almost turning red. Maeve saw her taking a small step back. She wanted to push her downstairs and let fate do the rest. She would’ve, if Ada hadn’t appeared running in the street towards them. Pol looked at her niece, then at Maeve. “Don’t tell her,” she said in a hushed whisper. She still didn’t understand, did she? Nothing Maeve had done that morning was for her, or even for Thomas, but for herself. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Ada caught up with them. “You’re home!” Ada screamed, side-hugging Maeve. In other times, it would’ve been comforting to have Ada’s support and genuine love, but right now Maeve wanted to throw up. Something inside her was wrong, she was losing control of herself and it scared her. She needed to go home and throw herself at her bed. Time could calm a storm.

“I am,” she said. Looking enthusiastic about it. Pol bit down a scoff. “But I have to go now, it’s getting late and there’s a lot to do in the house. We should have lunch tomorrow, eh?”

Ada nodded, hugging her once again. “I’ll come over with Karl, then. Is that alright?” A nod.

She and Pol exchanged a look. Of course, Pol wanted her gone that same night, and this was one of the two reasons she had decided not to leave. The second one was, as she had told Ada — although she had omitted some details — all the work that needed to be done in her old house. Cleaning the rooms and dust, getting rid of her uncle’s corpse. So much to do, Maeve thought.

Maeve picked up her pace, sighing. She could see the people she had grown with look at her and whisper between themselves. Rumours wouldn’t take long to start and she had to do what she needed to before that happened. She’d need help.

How long did weddings take, anyway?

Not long after she left the church, Maeve came to stand in front of her childhood home. Old and rotten, she wondered how it still stood its ground. Unlike the rest of the houses, this one was an independent building, isolated from the rest of the neighbourhood thanks to a fence. No one would ever know what she was going to do, no one had ever known what happened. For the first time in her life, Maeve was grateful hell was separated from the world. All those moving lips, the judging stares and pointing fingers… the thought alone made her suck in a breath and bit her lip until she tasted blood in her mouth. 

She was shaking as she walked, in a torn dress and smudged make-up. Years ago, it would’ve been unimaginable for her to arrive home looking like that. But who was going to handle her now? Her punisher was in the bedroom floor, rotting. His meat matching the coldness of his heart, if there was something left of it. Rodents must had had a feast with him. A smile tried to blossom on her lips, but not even the certitude of his death could stop the damage from spreading. Almost as if, with his death, she had died too, and the chance of a brighter future disappeared forever. There was no light at the end of the rainbow, but a growing darkness that called her name. It wouldn’t be long until she submitted to it, she knew. Perhaps she had to start thinking about how she wanted people to remember her, if someone was to remember her at all.

The door opened with a soft push. Before going in, she looked behind her to ensure no one was watching. As she set foot inside, she felt like sobbing. It smelled like death — something that was expected — and humidity. No one had taken care of it in a decade and time hadn’t been kind at all. She was surprised, however, to see most of it was still intact. Rodent shits, nests and corpses all around, but still intact for the most part. Maeve walked into what once was the kitchen, the last meal she prepared was now a bunch of fungus. Two glasses and a bottle of rum sat at the center of the table, right where she left them. She didn’t have time to clean up before she left and didn’t expect… she didn’t know what she had been expecting that night.

Maeve moved upstairs. Slow, unsure. Something was telling her to turn around and leave. Hop on a boat to London and never come back. Not for her, not for Pol, not for Thomas. She had made it this far, though, turning back now would be losing to him. That couldn’t happen.

It was so silent she could hear her own heartbeat. In her mind, she had lived this moment a thousand times. None of them happened as it was. She walked without noticing. As if her body was moving on its own accord, and her mind didn’t realize what was happening. Walking, she passed through four doors, one of them leading to her old bedroom. And in the far end of the hall, in front of her, a dark wood door, behind of which hell was locked. Opening it would mean opening her mind too, but this was something that Maeve had decided she was willing to do. If she opened that door and could fight her demons, then perhaps the darkness wouldn’t want her any longer, and she would be free from it and from the past. 

The closer she got to the door, the stronger the smell became. Maeve had to stop and tear a piece of her dress, pressing it against her mouth and nose, in order to keep moving. She never thought a bunch of bones would smell so bad. It made her skin tingle, her insides turn on their own. She had to press her mouth shut to avoid throwing up. Oh, Maeve felt like passing out. No, not here, she thought. Don’t let me pass out next to him.

As if he could still hurt her.

The door was ajar and from the outside, she would see the corpse. What was left of it. It was all bones and cartilage, except for a few pieces of skin in his hands and neck. It wasn’t half as disgusting as she had expected it to, the thought somehow calming her nerves down. She was glad to find out it wasn’t the corpse that produced the smell, but the rodent's shits that decorated the bedroom floor. It must had stopped smelling long ago.

  
Before Maeve was able to process the situation, she was sobbing, falling down against the cold floor. She hugged her knees and pressed herself against the wall, far from  _ that _ . She felt bugs, rodents, worms, all over her own skin. She tried to take them off, slapping her skin. It didn’t work. Her nails dug deep, leaving trails of blood and pain behind them. Later, perhaps, she’d feel it, but as she scratched the exposed skin all she could think of was her own fear. From the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of the bones and she could swear the hand wasn’t in the same position it was when she first entered the room. Maeve screamed, getting up from the floor and turning around herself, over and over again. She had torn her dress even more and was tugging at her hair so hard it was falling off. Maeve felt a pair of arms wrap around her. The rest was black. And cold. And terrifying.


	7. Not The Saviour She Hoped For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Violence, mentions of paedophilia and rape.
> 
> As usual, follow me on Twitter to know about updates and new stories coming up!  
And if you enjoy my stories, I have a ko-fi for economical help. It'd be appreciated! Link in Twitter bio!

_This would be the night, Maeve told herself like she had a thousand times since she woke up that morning. It would all end tonight. She’d leave as soon as he fell asleep, knock on Tom’s door and ask him to leave with her, start the life he kept on offering her. Maeve could leave it all behind, never think about it again. It was all she had ever wanted._

_Maeve sat in the kitchen. Plates full of food she would never get to eat laid in front of her, a bottle of rum and two glasses at the center of the table. She had made sure to throw the drug, just in case he tried to go after her. She was shaking, biting her lip. Nothing could go wrong, she told herself. It was all planned out. He would fall asleep and she would leave. Not even the stormy night would stop her from doing so. Even if no one would take her to London because of the weather, she would hide until morning with Thomas. Yes, Thomas would take care of her. Her uncle wouldn’t hurt her if he was with her._

_The door opened, she could hear the thunder and the pouring rain hitting the ground, then in a second it was closed again and she heard cursing. Maeve pressed her lids shut before the tears could make it out; she grabbed a knife and hid it in her lap, pressing her skin against the blade to stop her from weeping. Soon, her mind kept chanting. Soon._

_Her uncle appeared in the kitchen, wet and upset. “What the fuck is this?” He said, taking the bottle on his hands and reading the label. As if he could read, Maeve thought._

_“Dinner,” her voice was low and weak, she almost stuttered. “I made dinner for us.”_

_William scoffed. “For who else, if not? Stupid girl.” He took off his coat, throwing it on a chair as he sat down in the one opposite to her. He took the fork and knife, digging into his food like an animal. She swallowed the nausea._

_Maeve got up from her chair and took his coat, hanging it on the door. She was next to him, and could smell the alcohol-filled breath that left his lips. Knife still on her lap hidden in her pocket, she tried to leave the kitchen and wait for the drug to make effect on her bed, but he grabbed her wrist. She stopped. Stopped moving, thinking, breathing. Not because she suspected him to know something, he was far too dumb to believe she’d plot against him, but because, even after all the time that had passed since the last time she had to feel it, she knew that grab. He wasn’t upset, he didn’t want to beat her up, shame her, tell her she was unloved. After so long, he wanted her. Maeve sucked in a breath, her lower lip trembled as she spoke. She felt like a little girl all over again. She hated it._

_“Sit down.” His tone left no room for argument. Maeve tried to walk back to her chair, but his grab wouldn’t allow it. “Don’t be a fool, bitch. Sit down.” Maeve did as she was told, sitting on his lap. He locked her legs between his. She felt his hand on her lower back, then it sat flat at her ribcage. For a while, he didn’t speak. He drank, and drank. Sometimes his hand would squeeze her flesh and Maeve had to stop herself from reacting. After some minutes, William put down his glass and leaned back. “You been fucking the Shelby boy, Maeve?” His hand once again squeezed her flesh, this time it hurt._

_No. It never happened, she never got close to him. She was friends with Ada and that was it. She wanted to tell him all that… but nothing left her lips. Her throat closed, her heart began picking up its beat until she thought it might explode. This time she couldn’t avoid the tears. Maeve could take whatever punishment was coming, but she knew he wouldn’t be content with it. He would hurt Thomas, too. Out of all the men that had passed through her bed, Tom had to be the one he found out about? No, no. Maeve was afraid. Not for herself, she no longer cared if she lived or died, but Thomas… she couldn’t let him hurt Thomas. Looking at the food, she hoped it would act soon. Soon, she pleaded. Soon._

_“You’re not a kid now…” William whispered. His free hand moved from her collarbone to her breast and he gave it a squeeze. Maeve saw him cringing. “Not a kid.” He was thinking out loud. No, she wasn’t a kid now. But that wasn’t stopping his hand from wandering down until he reached the edge of her skirt, then began lifting it. Maeve couldn’t move. “What is this?” William took the knife from the pocket, laughing as he threw it behind him. “What’s his name, Thomas? Yes, Thomas. Little thing. How does his cock feel?” He spoke against her ear. She wanted to smash the bottle on his head and make him swallow the glass. William grabbed her face, turning it so she’d look at him. “How does his cock feel, whore? As good as mine? Is he as big, eh? Is he?” His voice had raised, he was now screaming. Shaking Maeve like she was a doll he wanted to break. Maeve felt his hand pushing her to the ground, then a kick against her stomach. She doubled in pain. “Answer me!”_

_“No!” As she found her voice, the house fell silent. The thunder and rain fading into the background. Maeve let herself hit the floor, sobbing. She wasn’t thinking as she spoke, she’d let her rage and pain take over. “He’s not raping a child! You aren't big, you fucking bastard. I was a child, you were tearing me apart!” She felt another kick, then she was pushed on her back and he sat on her, stopping her from moving. She still tried to fight him. “Let me go!”_

_William laughed, grabbing her arms with a hand and pinning them down. He used the other to lift up her skirt again and he grabbed her womanhood. Maeve screamed. His fingers got under her underwear, pressing against her entrance. He seemed disgusted and took them out. “You’re not a kid,” he said once again, like a parrot repeating a sentence it was taught. It was then Maeve realized he was talking about her pubic hair. And her cunt, it was used and he didn’t like that. He couldn’t hurt her like that. She almost wished he’d chose to kill her, like he had killed her aunt in the past. However, Maeve saw the look on his face and how his lips formed a grin and she cried, kicking and screaming, wishing someone would come and save her. William turned her around so that she laid on her chest and tore her panties apart. With all her strength, which was nothing in comparison to his, she fought him. But the thunder that had once helped calm her down was drowning her screams. William pressed himself against her and moved her hair so he could speak against her ear. “But still tight somewhere, right? You better not talk… I can remember how that little cunt feels, just the thought is getting me hard. You’re going to take all of me, and after I’m done I will think about killing that bastard. I might make him watch me take you before I do, how does that sound, eh? I will coat my cock with his blood before I fuck you.”_

_He never got to enter her._

_Maeve couldn’t make out what happened at first. She felt his weight being lifted off of her, a pair of soft arms grabbing her and forcing her on her feet and to run. Her sight wouldn’t focus as she and whoever it was that was helping her ran upstairs. She let herself fall on the floor as the other person locked the door. Maeve looked around, she was in the master bedroom. Then, her gaze fell upon her saviour—and as grateful as she was, she couldn’t help but feel resentful she had taken so long. _

_Pol moved from the door towards the window, opening it to look down. Maeve had thought about it in the past, but it was too high a height to jump. Their legs would break upon impact. She didn’t talk, not until her uncle caught up to them and she heard him scream, pounding against the door so hard she thought he might tear it down. A whimper left her lips and it caught Pol’s attention. The older woman ran to her, kneeling down and taking her face in her hands. Maeve wanted to feel safe._

_“Listen to me, we need to think—and fast. If he gets in here, we’re both dead. Now, there has to be somewhere we can hide, an exit. Think!” Pol spoke in a whisper, hoping William could not hear them. Maeve shook her head. The master bedroom had two exists: the door and the window, and both of them were out of the picture._

_Maeve grabbed Pol’s hands. “I gave him a drug, to put him to sleep. He ate all the food…”_

_Pol gave her a look; for once she didn’t look at Maeve with hate or resentment, but genuine care and concern. She didn’t need to tell Maeve the drug wouldn’t work because he was far too active for him to process it, and even if it did, waiting was not an option. It wouldn’t be long until the door gave up and William entered the room. Maeve cried again._

_And then, it happened. Sooner than Maeve had hoped for. The door opened, the force of his kick made it bounce against the wall. William looked more furious than she had ever seen him; face red and hair disheveled, he was breathing hard and fast. It took him a second to find them, crunching besides the bed. Pol tried to shield Maeve with her own self, but William grabbed her by the hair and threw her on the ground, away from Maeve. He expected his niece to not move—she had never done so when it was her aunt he was beating up. He kicked and kicked Pol until she coughed blood and screamed in pain. Maeve felt herself hit the wall and she sobbed. She felt ridiculous, weak. Pol had risked her life to help her and all she could do in return was weep. No, a voice on her mind screamed. She couldn’t let this happen. After he was done with Pol, he’d kill her, and then he’d go after Thomas. Thomas. His name rang like a bell in her mind. _

_Maeve didn’t know how, but she managed to get up from the floor and focus—the high-pitched sound was once again piercing her ears but she gave it no second thought; she looked around, looking for something that might help. Her gaze fell upon a chandelier. It was made of metal. After that, it was a blur. She heard a hit, William fell to the floor. He rolled onto his back, looking at her with a surprised look on. Blood began gathering around his head. He tried to speak, but Maeve didn’t want to hear his voice. Just the thought of it made her shake with rage. And so, she hit him again. Again. And again. She kept on hitting him, watching the blood splur and taint her. And Maeve screamed, cried. Afraid, broken, uncertain of what was going on. She kept on hitting until the chandelier hit the floor and not him, and she realized his head was smashed._

_Maeve fell back and onto the floor. No tears, no screams. Nothing. As if she was looking at a painting she didn’t care about, her mind had processed the situation and shutted down._

_Minutes passed in silence, with Pol sitting on the bed, looking at the corpse. Maeve spoke, “Should we get rid of him?” _

_Pol didn’t hide the surprise on her face upon hearing Maeve talk in such a carefree manner, and Maeve didn’t hide her happiness. “Well, should we?”_

_“No, we can’t risk the corpse being found. You’d be the first suspect in that case. No one ever comes into this house… so we’re leaving him here.” Maeve frowned, confused. How could she leave the corpse there? It’d start smelling in little, animals and bugs would be attracted. She couldn’t live with a corpse next to her bedroom. Pol saw the questions forming on Maeve’s mind, and she answered them: “You have to leave. I’ll spread word he wanted to go to London to start anew. You’ll hop on Charlie's boat tomorrow morning and won’t return.” Her words came as a surprise, but it didn’t sound like a bad plan. Maeve had wanted to start over for a long time, and this was her chance. All she had to do was grab her things and… “You’ll be leaving alone, Maeve. You will not drag Thomas into this mess. He’ll be hurt, for a time, and then he will move on and find someone else, someone good that can love him and care for him. Do the same.”_

_Throughout her life, she had felt pain and fear, she had wished for death more times than she could begin to remember. That night, however, she had found herself fighting for life. It had not been her life, but a life nonetheless. Pol couldn’t be asking her to give up, not now._

_Maeve looked up, daring. For someone with blood and tears mixed on her face, she sure had the courage of a lioness. “Thomas loves me, cares for me. And I him.” Don’t take that from me, she wanted to add, but stopped herself at the last second._

_“If those words are true, Maeve, and Thomas’s love is reciprocated, then do what’s best for him and leave. Care for him. He has a future here, people to look after. Don’t ruin him. Get a suitcase, fill it in, go to Charlie’s and wait until morning. You’ll be in London soon.” Pol wasn’t done, her next words were coming from the woman Maeve knew and despised. “Choose not to do it, and I’ll call the coppers. You’ll be hanged in a week.”_

_An hour later, Maeve was at Charlie’s, a suitcase full of clothes and a hole where her heart had once been. She waited awake until morning came, and she found herself on a boat to a place unknown to her, leaving behind not just her home and life, but also the best part of her._


	8. An Unwelcomed Guest

It was dark when she woke up. Nothing was eating her alive, except for her own mind. Maeve didn’t take long to get up from the floor and look around; William’s rests were right where she had found them. 

It had all been a bad dream.

Maeve cursed under her breath, opening the closet to grab a bag. It was small, but she hoped it’d be enough to fit the bones. If she had to leave some behind… No, it’s best not to think ahead when it comes to failure. First, she had to find it in herself to pick up bone after bone with her bare hands. She was not sure if she could make it, truth be told, but she knew it had to be done if she was to return to Small Heath.

She began. Shaking, but determined to get it done. 

William was the first person she ever killed, but not the last. He’d also wouldn’t be the first corpse she’d get rid of. What made him different was the connection—the motive. Men had come and gone in her life, she had taken the lives and fortunes of some of them, and it had been simple and had felt good. Nothing related to William was simple, though, or felt good.

“Help or leave, but stop looking. Wasn’t enough to see me and Tom fucking?” If she turned around, she would’ve seen Pol’s surprised face, but not even that would’ve pleased her.

Maeve had felt her presence not long after she had woken up. She had been expecting her, too. 

Maeve knew, from the moment she made it clear she wasn’t leaving Small Heath soon, Pol wouldn’t leave her alone until she managed to drive her off. This time, however, nothing the old woman could come up with would scare her. If Maeve fell—whether it was from murdering her uncle or sleeping with Thomas in Church—Pol would go down with her. And after reuniting with her long lost son, Maeve was sure Pol wouldn’t test her luck.

Pol knelt next to her and helped pick up bones. As Maeve had feared, it was impossible to fit all of them into the bag. She sighed.

Her worries were soon shut down. “I brought the car—we should be able to fit them all in two times. We’ll drive to the canal and throw them. Come on, we don’t have all night.”

_ We do _ , the words almost fell from Maeve’s lips. But there was no strength left on her to fight. If she had been a child, or stupid, she might have thought Pol was helping her because she was a nice person. She almost wanted to believe so, but knew better. Maeve wondered what her mother had seen in Pol to be her friend, how she had not seen the rotten heart and evil intentions behind her every action. How could Pol have fooled her like that, she didn’t know.

Maeve nodded, getting up from the floor with a sigh and taking the bag with her. She strode downstairs, not giving the open door a second thought. Perhaps she should’ve.

As she was throwing the bones into the car, she saw a shadow walk past her. She froze. Not in fear, she believed, but in confusion. Until a second after, Pol was at her side, following her steps. She had carried the rest of the bones in her scarf.

“You’re not keeping that, are you?” Maeve asked, nodding towards the scarf.

Pol laughed, shaking her head. “Hell no, it’s going into the fire as soon as I’m home.”

Home. Maeve wanted to go home, but the house behind her wasn’t it. In fact, it repulsed her to think she had to spend the night there. She swallowed the lump in her throat, pushing the thought back until it was in a forgotten place in her mind. She turned to Pol. 

“So, are we going to die tonight?” Pol shook her head again. No. “Fine, old woman. You drive.”

Small Heath seemed to sleep deep. An opposite to what she remembered. But times had changed, right? Nothing was as it had once been. Children no longer ran through the streets at night, wanting to see the stars. She could see no lovers in the corners, kissing in secret and promising each other eternal love. Such things were out of fashion. Maeve realized she was getting old; growing up and watching time pass right before her, with no chance to stop it or catching up. At her age, her mother had been married, had a child and died, but at least people had been there to mourn her. She wondered if someone would know, if word would reach Thomas and he would weep, or if her actions would backfire and he would be glad she was gone. If she died, tonight, tomorrow, she was certain she’d welcome it. It wasn’t a warm and charming thought, but a truthful one. Her mind hadn’t had much of those. The truth was far too terrible, and often overestimated. She had lived in lies and risen to the top.

And because of it, her fall was destined to be painful.

Once their business was finished, Maeve had been dropped off at her house. However, she had found it impossible to spend another moment in that place and, after taking her suitcase with her and discarding her torn dress, she had strode into town, going nowhere in particular. Her first instinct was going to The Garrison. It was closed, but someone had been inside. Arthur. He hadn’t been pleased to see her, but still offered her a drink. After that, she had left with the idea of spending the night at Lizzie’s, perhaps she could live with her until she found her own apartment, but her old friend was working and Maeve didn’t want to interrupt. It had been a sad walk, from Lizzie’s walk to the big mansion in front of her. Some happiness had appeared, though, and lighted up a path for Maeve to follow.

Wandering around, she grabbed her suitcase and breathed in. Another corpse was now at the bottom of the canal, travelling to meet the sea and disappear forever. Even if, for some reason, the bones were to be found, no one would know who it was, what happened to him or who did it. It was impossible to connect his murder to Maeve. She was free. Free, at last. She couldn’t, nor wanted to avoid the laugh that was born at the pit of her stomach and went up until it left her lips in a melodic song. She spun and spun, listening to the echo her shoes caused against the pavement. And when she stopped, she realized she wasn’t tired. She’d have spent the night dancing on the streets, if a storm wasn’t coming.

If there was a Hell, then the throne would be hers. At the moment, though, she raised her fist and knocked on the polished door. One, two, three minutes passed until a maid opened up.

“Hello, there,” Maeve whispered, taking a step forward and smiling at the girl. “I’m looking for Thomas, does he live here?” A nod. “I’ve been walking for hours to reach this place…” she lied, “it’s important that I speak to him. Tell him Maeve is at the door, please?” Her sweetness caused the girl to blush, but she nodded ,nonetheless, and went upstairs.

Less than a minute later, Thomas was in front of her. Shocked, embarrassed. His wife behind him, worried. Maeve smiled at the woman, looking her up and down: she was beautiful, with golden hair and a caring gaze. Maeve tried to feel something, for a moment she believed she did so, but when her gaze returned to Thomas and whatever she thought she had felt was replaced with anger and a flash of jealousy. 

“What is going on?” Tommy whispered, approaching her. He looked at her suitcase.


	9. Spare room for two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a disaster at posting! I'm so SORRY! I will do better I promise!!

Grace wasn’t as terrible as Elizabeth had made her out to be. Sure, there was a distrust for what she had done to Thomas before, but Thomas seemed to have forgiven her. Of course, Maeve knew that Pol loved to exaggerate things and hate people for entertainment, but she had hoped at least there’d be some truth behind her newest fixation.

When the door opened, it was Grace that walked in. She looked at Maeve and smiled.

“Can I offer a cup of tea, or coffee? Biscuits?”

Maeve smiled, sitting straight so she wouldn’t fall asleep in the uncomfortable chair. “Just tea, thanks.” It was late and she was cold. Still, she wanted to have this conversation.

Grace began preparing the tea, with her back muscles tense as she moved in the kitchen as if she was a stranger and not the owner of the place. It must have been hard for her, joining a clan full of resentful demons. She seemed to be sweet, Maeve noticed. Sweet and innocent, and oblivious to the truth that Thomas hid from her.

“I’d like to apologize for missing the wedding. You see, I had business to take care of.”

“Oh, there’s nothing to apologize for. You… are here now.”

Sitting in front of her, Grace served the tea. Her question lingered in the air between them as the gunpowder does after a shot. Maeve was confident in knowing she could read people, but this time she had to admit she was clueless. How much did Grace know? How much did she ignore? Although her biggest doubt was if Pol had run her mouth in an attempt to stop the wedding─something that wouldn’t come as a surprise.

Maeve and Grace drank their tea in silence, observing one another.

Until Grace decided to speak, as her words weren’t the ones Maeve had expected. At all.

“You know, Thomas used to dream about someone named  _ Maeve _ . Often. Until one night, he stopped. I haven’t heard that name leave his lips since.”

Maeve smiled, vicious and vengeful. It was then she felt bad for the woman before her, she just loved Thomas, dreamt of a life with him. She had no idea what she had gotten herself into. Out of all the enemies, the killings, the illegal activities… none of it was as dangerous as Maeve. She would soon find out, to her sorrow.

“Was that before or after selling him to the authorities? Or in between?”

Once more the door opened. This time it was Thomas but there was someone else with him. Lizzie. Lizzie who looked at her like she was a ghost and was shaking.

Her sweet, sweet Lizzie. Oh, she had missed her too.

Maeve got up from the chair and walked up to her, the taller woman almost afraid that she’d just disappear into thin air if she dared to touch her. But as Maeve closed the distance between them and hugged her old friend, Lizzie let out a sob and wrapped her arms about her frame.

Lizzie, who felt too much, often for the wrong person. Lizzie, who Maeve didn’t deserve.

“You’re real.” Elizabeth whispered, her fingers tangled in Maeve’s hair as she tried to regain her composure. “You’re real…” Maeve knew Lizzie’s unspoken words:  _ for how long _ . Lizzie and Thomas shared a fear: losing Maeve forever. However, twisted as it might sound, Maeve could never leave Lizzie behind, that would be like losing the best part of her.

Grace cleared her throat, catching the women’s attention and forcing them to break apart. For them─and Maeve was sure Lizzie disliked Grace as much as Pol did, given the looks she was giving the new Mrs. Shelby─it was unclear how safe it was to express feelings with her present. A woman, unknown to them, with a dark past and quick tongue, was never a good woman to be honest with.

Thomas stepped in, almost shielding Maeve from his wife. “You’re more than welcome here. I can prepare a room, but, perhaps Lizzie’s will be more comfortable?”

“Thomas, I’m sure Maeve would rather be at Lizzie’s.” Grace’s voice cut through the kitchen like a sharpened knife does through paper, while glaring at the woman that was obvious had given her more than one headache and still to that moment haunted her insecurities. “A… familiar place often offers a better rest.”

Maeve laughed, calming Lizzie down, who had grabbed her hand to stop her from attacking Grace. Now, Maeve had to admit that perhaps when she was still a traumatised kid who resolved her problems using either sex or violence, she would’ve, without a second thought, jumped over the kitchen table and beated Grace up until she choked on her own blood. That, however, was the past, and Maeve had promised herself that that child would remain buried until needed. “Nothing’s more… familiar then Thomas’ bed.”

With a voice as sweet as poison, Maeve turned to Thomas: “So, where should we sleep?”

“Get out of this house.”   
  
“That’s to the owner to decide, darling. And I doubt Thomas will kick me out.”

With his name spoken, Thomas could no longer avoid conflict. He looked between the three women, his gaze lingering for a bit longer on Lizzie, asking for help, but Lizzie knew better than to cross Maeve, and perhaps Thomas should have known better too. “We have a spare room but I will be sleeping with Grace, Maeve.”

“I know that, fool. I meant Lizzie and I.” Maeve sighed. She was exhausted, the trip to her old house had gotten into her more than she dared to admit, and she was done with games for the night. So, swallowing the poison that was meant for someone else, she once more looked up to Thomas, repeating herself: “Where are we going to sleep?”

“Oh. I will prepare the bedroom then.”

He didn’t hide the discomfort. Not the one most people had in them when two women slept together. No, Thomas wasn’t like that. It was the discomfort Maeve had grown used to when he realized that, once again, Maeve was choosing someone else over him. She had known that with his words he had meant for her to throw a tantrum, to ask him to share his bed. But Maeve had never asked a man even for the time, she would not fall so low that Thomas would be the one in control. This was her, the same woman he had loved. She would not change.

And that’s what will make her presence a nightmare for them.


End file.
